


Why Aren't We Naked Yet?

by orphan_account



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: First Time Fest, Fluff, M/M, Ratings: R, Sexual Humour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-08
Updated: 2011-08-08
Packaged: 2017-10-22 09:43:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/236689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tuesdays are Arthur and Merlin's sex days, so when things don't go smoothly, Arthur isn't happy.</p><p>(Prompt: The first time Merlin isn't in the mood for sex.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why Aren't We Naked Yet?

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [The Merlin First Time Fest](http://eloquent-toast.livejournal.com/236549.html)!

It was all very unusual, and Arthur couldn’t understand it. There he was, sitting on  _their_  blanket in  _their_  clearing, deep in the woods. It was the last Tuesday of the month, which was his Hunting Solo (With Merlin) Day, and yet they weren’t having sex. They weren’t even  _close_  to having sex.

Alright, maybe this needs clarifying: Tuesdays were always their  _Days_.

Every first Tuesday of the month was Arthur’s Bath Day, and he’d spend several hours cleaning behind his ears, between his toes and down the back of his legs, with Merlin’s eager assistance. Coincidentally, every first Tuesday of the month was also Gaius’ Beetle Stew Day, and Merlin’s Staying Late And Finishing Last Month’s Chores Day -- or so he insisted when he got home after dark, and was faced by Gaius thrusting a big bowl of cold, brown mush under his nose. He usually complained about how he’d cooked extra  _on purpose_  because Merlin had  _promised_  to try it this time.

Every second Tuesday of the month was Arthur’s Boring Meetings With The Court Day, and every month, without fail, he spent the entire time staring out of the window, watching children playing or knights training or ladies brushing their hair -- or whatever it was that those people not weighed down by the responsibility of constantly looking interested did.

By the time he retreated to his chambers in the evening, Arthur was in need of an outlet for all of his pent up energy. These Tuesdays just happened to be Merlin’s Lie Still And Groan Days, so he was more than happy to oblige Arthur on this particular front -- it wasn’t as though stripping off his clothes, lifting up his knees and letting Arthur rock back and forth into him was a  _chore_ , after all.

Every third Tuesday of the month was Arthur’s Duty Inspection Day, and Merlin’s Most Variably Good Or Bad Day, but that was only because Arthur would be inspecting  _his_  duties, as well as the other servants. Due to Arthur’s habit of assigning any incomplete or unsatisfactory job to the first person he saw, most of the places he inspected were noticeably devoid of humans. The stables were always deserted, the kitchens were usually abandoned, and the broom cupboards rarely showed any sign of life.

When everything was in order, this was a  _blessing_ , and made the third Tuesday of the month Merlin’s New Sexual Encounters Day, because Arthur wasn’t opposed to slipping his hand below Merlin’s waistband when they were alone behind the stove, and he just  _loved_  letting down his breeches and pushing Merlin to his knees beside the freshly-dusted paintings of Camelot’s northern tower. However, if some lazy servants hadn’t cleaned the windows or washed the floors, then the third Tuesday of the month quickly became Merlin’s I’d Rather Die Than Look At Another Mop And Bucket Day. More often than not, Arthur would make up for all the horrible chores later, but Merlin thought that make-up sex would be so much better without all the miserable forced labour beforehand.

Maybe now everything makes a bit more sense, and maybe now you can see where this is going: the last Tuesday of  _every_  month was  _always_  Arthur’s Hunting Solo (With Merlin) Day. Merlin would always rise at the crack of dawn, load the horses with formidable-looking hunting gear and enough weapons to make their facade convincing. Arthur usually rolled out of bed a few hours later, shouted at Merlin for not having breakfast ready in time, and then they were on their way.

It was always the same clearing, always the same blanket, always the same routine. Arthur would comment on Merlin’s red neckerchief, saying he liked the blue one much better, then flutter his eyelashes and proclaim “ _Darling_ , it really brings out your eyes!” in his most ridiculous impression of a doting wife. Then, Merlin would punch his arm, he’d hit Merlin harder and they’d end up in a few rather painful, highly suggestive positions before Arthur threw up his hands and said if Merlin didn’t hurry up and take his clothes off, all the deer would be asleep when they finished and the prince of Camelot would end up with a reputation for being a terrible hunter.

“But at least everyone’ll know you’re a great shag,” Merlin would wink, and Arthur always took this as an invitation to prove just how stupendous he really was.

The unusual thing on this particular Tuesday was that Merlin hadn’t worn his red scarf, he’d worn his blue one. Arthur didn’t know what to do. How on earth could he find an opening  _now_?

“Merlin,” he said when he was certain he couldn’t watch Merlin cram one more sausage into his mouth without losing his ability to ever have sex again. “What’re you doing?”

“Eatin’,” Merlin mumbled, hardly glancing at him.

“Why?”

“M’ungry.”

There was another few moments quiet, and Arthur listened to the birds in the trees around them. He recognised the mating chirp of a woodpecker, and cursed the frisky little bastard under his breath. Why didn’t  _humans_  have mating calls? Or at least a combination of words that signaled clearly the wish for some kind of sexual relief -- other than “please have sex with me”.

Arthur rubbed a patch of mud off the toe of his boot, whistled a thirty-second tune, clapped his hands together and huffed, staring around the clearing again. When none of his signals got through, he turned back towards Merlin, and caught his wrist just as he was bringing another sausage up to his lips.

“Merlin,” he said, this time with more force.

“What?” the word was muffled by half-eaten sausage, but there was no denying Merlin really didn’t have  _any_  idea why Arthur was stopping his lunch.

“Why--” Arthur let go of Merlin’s wrist to rub his fingers along his forehead -- at his wits end. “Why aren’t we naked?”

A violently-inhaled-sausage-induced coughing fit followed this question. Merlin stared at Arthur with his eyes watering and at last choked out, “Why would we be?”

“Because!” Arthur squeaked, slipping into hysteria for a moment and only just managing to reign his dismay back in. “Because it’s  _Tuesday_  and we’re  _hunting_.”

“Do we hunt naked?” Merlin asked, and so help heaven and earth, it was a serious question.

“No, Merlin, we do not hunt naked,” Arthur had never wished his crossbow had a ‘reverse’ setting before now...

“Well then what’re you talking about?” Merlin gave Arthur a look that suggested  _he_  was the one acting strangely, and turned his attention back to the sausages in front of him (he seemed to have an unlimited supply -- just when it looked like he was reaching the end, more would appear).

Arthur adopted his slow, ‘you’re an imbecile so I will explain the most basic aspects of life to you in a very calm, controlled manner’ voice the next time he spoke. “It’s Tuesday,” he said. “Tuesdays are our  _sex_  days.”

A quirked eyebrow was the only response Merlin bothered to give, and Arthur gritted his teeth. Getting angry with Merlin wasn’t the best way to get yourself into (or get him out of, whichever way you looked at it) his breeches, but he really deserved nothing less when he was being so bloody difficult.

“Don’t act like you don’t know it!” Arthur pulled another face, throwing his arms out in an extravagant manner and rising up onto his knees to loom down on Merlin. “You’ve been conveniently packing strawberries for months. Then, a few weeks ago, you jumped into my bath without even  _pretending_  to have a go at foreplay! And don’t get me started on the way that stool with a  _silk pillow_  has somehow appeared in the southeast broom cupboard -- our most regular spot for a lovely, impromptu sucking--”

“Alright, alright!” Merlin shouted over him, throwing his sausage back into the basket and raising his hands into the air. “Tuesdays are our sex days! Fine.”

Arthur’s feeling of smug satisfaction was short lived. He grinned, glad he’d saved that stool observation for a situation such as this, but his smile soon faded. Merlin wasn’t making any kind of move to take off his clothes, he was just sitting cross-legged, resting his chin in his hands and sulking at the ground. Suddenly, Arthur was just as confused as before.

“Merlin,” he said after a few minutes, sounding unsure again. “Why aren’t you naked yet?”

“Because I don’t want to have sex, Arthur!”

The words echoed between them. Merlin had said it without thinking -- his patience finally worn thin by Arthur’s persistence in being the world’s prattiest prat -- but he wasn’t going to apologise. It was true, after all.

“Why do we always have to have sex?” he sighed, looking back at Arthur, whose face was playing host to the most pathetic pout in history.

“We don’t  _always_  have sex,” Arthur grumbled, unsure whether he wanted to glower at Merlin or just gaze at his own knees. “We don’t actually get a chance all that often.”

Merlin thought for a moment -- it was true. There weren’t a lot of opportunities for them to have sex, what with chores and duties and the fact this was just a little bit of a secret, but that didn’t mean they had to have sex at _every_  opportunity.

A weak smile lit Merlin’s features, he pushed the basket of food to the side and reached for Arthur’s hand. “I know... I mean, can’t we just kiss? And sit for a while?”

Arthur stared down at Merlin’s hand, resting so gently on his own.  _Just_  kissing wouldn’t be too bad, he supposed... And since he was such a fantastic kisser, he could probably convince Merlin that sex with Arthur in the woods was actually the one thing he wanted most in the world.

He nodded, shifted forward onto his hands and knees and pressed a light kiss against Merlin’s lips. It was nice -- tame, but nice. Arthur leaned forward a little more, enjoying the pressure of Merlin pushing back against his lips. He even quivered a little when Merlin’s hands closed around his face. They cupped his cheeks, and slid back and forth along the back of his neck, lightly brushing through the hair at his nape.

As he clasped onto Arthur, Merlin shuffled around on his bum so they that they were facing each other properly. It gave him better freedom to tug at Arthur’s shoulders. Arthur let out a low moan as Merlin sucked on his bottom lip. Merlin linked his fingers at the back of Arthur’s head, pulling him closer and covering his ears with his palms.

Everything about that day was a little out of the ordinary, so Arthur didn’t fight against the unusual feel of Merlin’s controlling hands. He found he rather enjoyed this side of Merlin -- so desperate to close the distance between them -- even if clothes were still an unwelcome obstacle. Grinning against Merlin’s lips, Arthur walked forwards on his hands and knees, forcing Merlin to lean back and cling to his torso for support.

A hum of approval bubbled up from Merlin’s throat as he uncrossed his legs and leaned back even further, spreading his knees. It didn’t take long for Arthur to angle his hips between Merlin’s legs, and soon they were lying on  _their_  blanket in  _their_  clearing, kissing hungrily. Merlin’s hands stayed locked in Arthur’s hair, sometimes massaging gently, other times gripping rather hard -- it depended on how forcefully Arthur pushed his tongue into Merlin’s mouth.

Each time Merlin groaned, every ounce of Arthur’s self-control went into holding still and not bucking into Merlin’s thigh. He knew Merlin didn’t  _want_  to have sex. There was a subtle difference between these kisses and the sloppy, frenzied, wet heat of the kisses they’d shared in the past. This was quieter; more about warmth and love and expressing all those little aches of the heart that haunted them when they were apart -- and even sometimes when they were together.

Arthur understood that, and deep down, despite his charade, he  _respected_  it. He wasn’t oblivious to how much this -- how much  _they_  -- really meant, but he was still a hunter. He was all about tactics and strategy and patience. He’d give Merlin what he wanted this afternoon, but who could say whether all this kissing, all this  _not having sex_ , would leave Merlin with a low, throbbing desire in the pit of his stomach. Arthur was good with his tongue, after all -- or so he’d been told.

Not that he was full of himself or anything.


End file.
